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I
have experienced three momentous “where were you when…” events in my life. The
first occurred on December 7, 1941. I was only five-and-a-half at the time, but
the moment when we learned that Japan had attacked Pearl Harbor is one of the
most vivid memories of my childhood. The second came on November 22, 1963. What
I was doing when I heard that John F. Kennedy had been assassinated is burned
indelibly into my consciousness. We have just observed the thirteenth
anniversary of my latest “where were you…” experience−the Al Qaeda attacks in New York
and Washington with hijacked airliners.
On
the morning of September 11, 2001, my wife, Annette, and I were travelling the
roads of South Arkansas, on our way home to Virginia after visiting relatives. Heavy
congestion on I-30 because of extensive reconstruction led us to us to use
two-lane secondary roads through the dense pine forests. Radio reception was
poor, so we were listening to classical music CDs rather than the radio. As we
finally turned onto a freeway just south of Little Rock, we decided to search
for traffic news. As soon as the radio came on, we learned of the first attack
on the Twin Towers in New York.
Just
a few minutes later, the news station reported the second crash into the towers
live. We were hardly onto the Little Rock bypass when the announcer told of the
third crash into the Pentagon. When we learned that the plane had flown into
the Pentagon at the heliport, our hearts seemed to stop. Our son, Stephen, was
serving on the staff of the Chief of Naval Operations. Although his office was
in another building, we knew that he spent a great deal of time in the section
of the Pentagon that had been destroyed.
Annette
immediately tried to call Stephen on her cellphone. But by that time, all cell
service with the Washington area was frozen. She tried his home phone and then
that of our daughter, Karen, who lived in Alexandria, Virginia. Again, no calls
went through. After a quick discussion, we decided to press on toward Virginia.
We soon approached a rest area, where I knew there were pay phones. Thinking
that I might be able to get through on a landline, I stopped and attempted to
call both my daughter and daughter-in-law. Nothing went through. The entire
Capital area was in a communications blackout.
We
continued to drive northward. As we neared Memphis, we finally got a call from
our daughter. She reported that her family was okay, but she had no word about
her brother. She told us that she had learned from a government contact that
more hijacked planes were on the way to Washington and that she and her family
were evacuating. She strongly urged us to go back to our relatives’ home in
Arkansas and wait for further news. Being a stubborn old Seabee, I resolved to
go on to Virginia. No terrorist was going to dictate my actions.
Just
after crossing into Tennessee, word came that the Twin Towers had both
collapsed. This came as a shock, but after reflection, I was not surprised. I
am a civil engineer, and I was trained to evaluate the effects of severe heat
on steel beams. Once the first failures occurred, the “pancake” failure of the
other floors was inevitable.
As
we cruised up I-40 through East Tennessee, we got our first good news of the
day. Our daughter-in-law called us on the cellphone to tell us that our son was
safe. He was not in the Pentagon at the time of the crash, but he had lost
several good Navy friends in the explosion and fire.
The
last piece of major news that day was of the crash of United Airlines Flight
93. At first, there were only rumors that the passengers had revolted and
caused the crash.
We
stopped for the night in a hotel in Cookeville, Tennessee. Only after we
checked in and reached our room were we able to see the day’s events on
television. Seeing it all for ourselves, the horrible reality of the attacks
finally struck home. But by then, the facts surrounding the crash of Flight 93
were becoming clear from cell phone calls made from the aircraft.
Aboard
the United flight, the hijackers moved all the passengers together near the
back of the cabin. They allowed the captives to keep their cellphones, perhaps
even encouraged their use to spread fear and shock. The terrorists made one
fatal assumption: that the passengers would be cowed and sheepishly obey their
orders. Big mistake! Once the passengers learned what had happened to the other
hijacked planes, they got organized and resolved to go down fighting. Upon learning that one passenger was qualified
to fly the aircraft, they hatched a plan to storm the cockpit and take control
of the plane.
The
flight attendants boiled water in their coffee pots. Then, on the command, “Let’s
roll,” a group charged up the aisle toward the cockpit. They immobilized the
terrorist guarding the cockpit door by throwing scalding water onto him. But
once the door was breached, one of the terrorists inside pushed the controls
forward and dived into the ground, killing all aboard. But either the White
House or the U.S. Capitol was spared destruction, and countless lives on the
ground were doubtless saved.
The
terrorists had hoped to foster fear and despair among the American public. As
far as I was concerned, they failed miserably. My first reactions were anger
and a thirst for revenge. But then my pride in the Heroes of Flight 93 became
dominant. All Americans learn early on to think for themselves. Faced with a
stark choice between certain death and a slim chance to survive, the passengers
on Flight 93 chose to go down fighting. They made me proud to be an American.
Photo: "World Trade Center, New York City - aerial view (March 2001)" by Jeffmock - Own work. Licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:World_Trade_Center,_New_York_City_-_aerial_view_(March_2001).jpg#mediaviewer/File:World_Trade_Center,_New_York_City_-_aerial_view_(March_2001).jpg
